The safehouse was quiet except for the faint hum of rain against the roof, steady and relentless like the heartbeat of a world that refused to die.

Justina sat cross-legged on the cold floor, the encrypted drive before her. The small silver device gleamed under a flickering bulb, its edges scorched from the explosion. Carson watched her from across the room, his back against the wall, one hand absently rubbing the scar along his wrist. the reminder of how close they’d come to losing ...